


028 - Tall Girls are Closer to God

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Cute meet, F/M, Reader-Insert, body pos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 13:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17468261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “hellooooo !! do you reckon you could write somethin where van’s girl is the same height as him / just a smidge shorter ??? ((tall girls represent aye aye)), like maybe if the girl could be like well endowed / curvy and stuff yknow ??? idk i just don’t feel like people really pick up on any of that in blurbs and docs etc but yeah thank you, lots of love !! x”





	028 - Tall Girls are Closer to God

**Author's Note:**

> I am short. Very short. Like, when I met Van I didn’t even come up to his collarbones. I was at, like, heart height. Therefore, I genuinely apologise if I have not accurately represented the tall girl life experience. Haha.

This was the dilemma. This was always the clincher on the paragraph of getting ready. To high heel, or not to high heel; that was the question. Flats would mean you'd be around the same height as most guys. Heels would mean you'd probably be taller than most. It's not that you used a man's judgement of your height as a basis for your own self-image. Fuckboys will be fuckboys. It's just that it was so rare to find a guy that was not stupidly 'emasculated' by you being eye level. Disgusting, yes, but a reality you faced. No, fuck it, you thought. Any boy not willing to talk to you was not worth your time. You strapped on the ridiculously expensive dark purple velvet platforms.

On the tube you got a lot of looks. You chose to believe it was because of the heart shaped balloons you were dragging along behind you. You chose to believe it had nothing to do with your statement shoes, or your dress that was trying its hardest to cover your chest, but dresses for tall girls often assumed a certain level of lankiness. You had the full hourglass thing going on. Wide hips that your mother constantly told you would serve you well during pregnancy; to which you'd roll your eyes and make a face of disgust. Thighs big and beautiful enough to crush a dude's skull if you wanted. And a cup size that meant you spent a lot of time pissed off about how they stopped making the pretty lacey bras at a D cup. It was the balloons drawing attention.

By the time you arrived at the bar you were in a bad mood. You had set off so confident from home, but the crippling weight of the world's expectations and shortcomings were a burden. You found your friends and they cheered upon your arrival. You handed over the balloons to the birthday girl, and (already drunk) she almost cried. She tied them to her arms.

Once the drinks were poured and the shots became easier and easier to swallow, you felt better. The shoes were surprisingly not making you ache, and you could dance in them comfortably. Your friends said that the purple was a good choice, and that your winged eyeliner was disturbingly even. A compliment too pure. You sat down at the table after a little bop, and Emily leaned in and whispered to you.

"There's a guy over there that's been watching you all night."

You followed her subtle cue. He was leaning against the bar talking to someone with a lot of curly hair. He was wearing the same type of outfit all the guys in the bar were wearing; a button up of some sort, black jeans and nice boots. He had a kind face, and as he spoke to his friend he became animated and it was incredibly engaging to watch. You watched for too long, because he looked over at you (again?) and you too quickly looked away. You reminded yourself to remember his eyelashes and the way his hair curled up in a small cowlick.

"He's like, not freakishly tall," you replied to Emily. She frowned.

"I don't think that matters, Y/N," she said. You shrugged and picked up your glass.

Four songs later and it was your turn to buy a round of shots. You leaned against the bar, and uncomfortably ordered as the bartender stared straight at your chest; essentially down your dress. As he put the final glass on the tray a voice from next to you spoke.

"Her eyes are a little higher, mate." You turned, and it was the guy from before. He wasn't looking at you though, he was giving the bartender a semi-aggressive filthy stare. "Probably worth some free shots, ya think?" There were three seconds where nobody moved, waiting to see what the others would do. The guy just stared the bartender down. Then, the bartender nodded in defeat and walked away. The guy turned to you.

"That was… Thank you?" you said.

"He was being well creepy. Anyway. I'm Van," he said, and you shook hands. You were right - he was not freakishly tall. Maybe with your heels off you'd be the same height. With the beloved purple platforms you were at least 4cm taller. You tried to lean on the bar in a way that looked natural but would also give the appearance of being shorter.

"Y/N. Do you want one of these?" you asked. He smiled and shook his head.

"No, it's all good, love. But maybe a little later I could get you a drink?" You hesitated, and he saw it. "Or I could just leave you alone," and he stood taller and took a step backwards.

"No! Sorry! Yes. Yes, you can… do that… buy me a drink later,"

"You sure?" he asked and you nodded. He smiled again, at ease. "Alright. I'll catch you later then." You nodded and picked up the tray of shots and carried it to the table. They had a lot of questions.

Another four songs later and you were leaning against a wall watching your friends dance. It was hot and the bar was getting smoky somehow. Movement to your left, and you turned and watched Van walk towards you. He handed you a bottle of water. "The drink," he said and you smiled. Perfect. You twisted the cap, feeling the seal break. Nothing had anything ever tasted so good. "Do you wanna go get some fresh air?" he asked, and you nodded. He held out his hand and you took it. He lead you through the bar and out onto the street. You immediately leant against the wall. You watched him take out a box of cigarettes, light one, then inhale so deeply it was like watching someone saved from asphyxiation get their first breath of oxygen. You laughed. "What?" he asked with a grin.

"Fresh air?"

"Are you judging me?" he asked in a mock hurt voice.

"Only a little bit."

Under the street lights he looked even prettier than inside, and he had space to move outside too. As he started to make small talk he moved his hands like his words would mean nothing without them.

"Saw the balloons. Is it someone's birthday?" he asked suddenly. You nodded. 

"My friend. I think she's probably inhaled all the helium by now,"

"Is that why you're all dressed up too?"

"Yeah. I guess. Am I overdressed for this place?" you asked, genuinely interested to see if he'd lie, because you both knew you were.

"You are, but it's good. You look real good. I like the shoes especially," he said as he pointed to them with the hand with the smoke between his fingers. You looked down at your feet for a second.

"Do you think they make me too tall?" you asked, then looked back up to watch his response. He looked confused.

"Too tall for what?" You probably would have signed the marriage certificate right then and there if he'd asked.

"Guys don't really talk to girls that aren't shorter than them,"

"What, I don't count?" he asked, pretending to be hurt again. You smiled.

"Well apparently you are the exception," you said, trying to not let the smile break out into an ear-to-ear grin. You bit your bottom lip.

"Tall girls are good… you're good… because I could leave little love bites on ya collarbone and not even have to hurt my neck doing it!" he said in a casual and cheery tone. Unbelievable.

"Do adults purposefully leave hickeys on people?"

"I'm the exception," he replied. You couldn't contain that grin, and he seemed to like that. It was overwhelming, so you said you should probably find your friends, and he walked you back to them.

After the bar, at the 24/7 bakery on the corner, you held your phone close as it lit up with a constant stream of messages from Van listing reasons why tall girls, and more specifically you, were beautiful and good. #8 was a good one; "can reach top shelf better than me" he said. #15 was "can be the big spoon sometimes too." It went on until you agreed to go on a date.

"Lucky you wore the shoes, huh?" Emily said, swallowing almost-unchewed mouthfuls of donut. You looked down and tapped the heels together like Dorothy. 

"Yeah. Lucky."


End file.
